Awake, Dry Bones
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: One by one, the Knights of the Holy Order are being hunted down by an ancient evil and the only hope is for a waning Gabriel Van Helsing to enlist the help of the only one who was ever able to defeat this foe: Count Vladislaus Dracula.(He's back)
1. Lazarus, Come Forth

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

_"Jesus answered and said to him, _

_"Most assuredly I say to you, _

_unless one is born again,_

_he cannot see the Kingdom of God._

_Nicodemus said to Him, _

_How can a man be born when he is old?_

_Can he enter a second time into his mother's _

_womb and be born?"_

- John 3: 3-4

_"And as it is appointed for men to die once,_

_but after this, the judgment."_

- Hebrews 9: 27

**Awake, Dry Bones**

**By: Lady Erised**

**Chapter One: Lazarus, Come Forth**

"This is the last time I get stuck with you, I swear to God."

"Which one?"

"Hush you!" Jeremy Woodrow turned to gaze at his partner, knowing full well his anger would evaporate once he caught sight of her. And true to form, catching Rani in the fading sunlight was enough to make him smile. The Hindi nurse was smiling tauntingly at him from behind the edge of her blue Sari, and Jeremy knew he wasn't going to win this argument anytime soon. Rani was Brahmin priest and because of her station in life, she was always Jeremy's superior in every way. She was meek, innocent and wise beyond her years but when it came to arguments with her Knight Jeremy, Rani always displayed a quiet iron discipline that put him firmly in his place.

And made the gulf between them a little more painful. Jeremy sighed, mainly to ignore the feelings that he knew would always come with staring at his guide too long, and focused on the road ahead.

They were traveling a well-worn trade route up from Africa to Rome: desirable now because usually during this time of year, the route was deserted and Jeremy could recuperate from his wounds with relative privacy, and not have to explain where or how he had gotten them.

Not that he could explain, even if he wanted to. He was fairly certain no one had ever encountered the monster he had before. Rani had claimed it was a residue effect lead from one of Vishnu's incarnations. Apparently, something had traveled back from wherever the God went to be reborn, and instead of dealing with his own mess- Vishnu had left it to the Knights of the Holy Order. Enter Jeremy and Rani. Rani had been able to lure the creature to him- Brahmin made delicious snacks, she explained and Jeremy had done the legwork: a wonderfully thought out plan of beating the monster till it didn't move anymore.

After interring the monster in holy ground (and burning its heads, Jeremy liked making sure) the pair could finally return home.

Home. Not that there was any welcome to be found back at Rome, Jeremy still liked the familiarity of Rome. He liked being around other Knights of the Holy Order and knowing that in some small way, he was not alone. He liked knowing that there were others who fought against creatures not made in Heaven, but on earth and knowing- deep in his core- that he and his kind were the only defense.

He thought briefly of the Order's most famous Knight: Gabriel Van Helsing and muttered a prayer for his mentor knowing full well Gabriel would curse him for doing so. It didn't matter though; Gabriel rarely was around for long enough to know that Jeremy or anyone else gave him thought. Van Helsing seemed to like solace, and solitude. It was as if he gained some penance from being separate from the rest of the world. Rumors gave Gabriel a sad past, and grim future- even despite the fact he was the oldest, most-respect and some said the most powerful of all the Knights.

They said this power came partially from the fact one of the leaders of the Knights was Friar Karl, who had been Gabriel's aide and strongest advocate. And while it was true Karl and Gabriel were deep friends, Karl wouldn't have used that friendship as a means to support favoritism…

Hopefully.

Rani's horse reared nervously, causing Jeremy to break from his thoughts and study their surroundings. The horse jumped again, causing Rani to yelp with surprise. "What is it, Jeremy?" She asked. "I thought you said the creature was killed."

Jeremy's hand fell to his sword, gingerly. "It was."

"Then why is Kadesh jerking?"

"I'm going to find out." He told her, reaching up behind him to pat the horse's neck lovingly. "Stay here, I'll be right back." He jumped slightly when he felt Rani's hand cover his. Turning back, he was met with Rani leaning forward and kissing him deeply. When she pulled away, she met his eyes with a strange look in her wise, reborn eyes.

"I'm coming with you."

"It's not safe."

"Whatever's out there, Jeremy." She began dismounting. He bit back a bittersweet smile as he watched her trembling dark hand reach for her axe. "We'll face together." She smiled nervously. "Like we should have always been."

Jeremy laughed, gently and turned to take the lead.

That was the last time they were know to be alive. Bedouin traders found their corpses three days later.

* * *

"How many does this make, Karl?" 

Karl looked up from the slab that had become the temporary resting places of Jeremy and Rani. He had been on a few field missions, and had seen death in various stages but that never dulled the surprise and morbid fear gathered around him when faced with the savage finality of death. The two lovers laid together in their disfigured sleep; Jeremy having suffered the worst of two fates- probably because he had tried to save Rani. There was a soft kill wound at Rani's neck; Jeremy's doing. He must have known they were doom, the Healers said, and had attempted to save the Hindi from torture.

A morbid last gift to the woman he could never have in life.

"This is seventh team, your Eminence." Karl muttered, numbly. "21 total, including the civilians that had been traveling with Hassan and Jacob."

The Cardinal's worn face darkened as he crossed the table, resting one of his red-gloved hands over what remained of Jeremy's face. It took him many moments to speak and even then, his voice broke with emotion. "And were certain of the cause."

This time Karl did not answer, but the figure that lurked near the shadows. The man stepped into the light and flinched, as if unaccustomed to brightness. Karl knew this entirely possible too. The man's kind was rarely invoked, and when they were, it was best to keep them firmly under lock and key.

"You know who the cause is." The man voiced, in a scratchy, inky voice that made Karl's skin crawl. "Lazarus has been freed."

The Cardinal looked up and glared at the figure. "You sound pleased by this."

"Why wouldn't I be?" The man rejoined. "Our kind has suffered long enough under your tyranny. Now our strongest comes, with vengeance on his mind. It promises to be quite a show."

Karl shifted, and whispered to the Cardinal. "I thought you said he could be trusted."

"He can. Despite his talk, Malik doesn't want Lazarus empowered any more then we do." The elder assured him. Then, he smiled gently and leaned down. "And he can hear you."

Karl jumped and the stranger, Malik, laughed. He grinned at Karl, revealing polished white fangs and a blood red tongue, which lapped hungrily over the corners of his dark mouth. He made a sharp movement, as if to challenge Karl but was pushed back as a collar glowed from around his neck, making Malik howl in pain.

"What are you?" Karl murmured.

Malik turned his eyes towards Karl with a wary gaze and to his dismay, Karl realized instead of traditional pupils, Malik's eyes composed of pure fire. Now exposed to the light as he was, Karl could also see thick scar tissue caused by heat crawling up the creature's arms. Malik noticed him staring and hissed, retreating back into the darkness. "I am your humble servant." Malik cooed, bowing deeply. "Here to assist you in any means I am capable of."

"Then you do your duty." The Cardinal interjected. "Tell us what this Lazarus wants."

"Revenge. Against him who imprisoned Lazarus those years ago. He has been freed from the prison that held him, but is still weak…and must feed." Malik pointed to the remains. "He will continue to seek out your Knights and Holy Ones until he is strong enough. Then, he will come after you, and this great kingdom you have."

"How can we stop him?"

"You cannot. Only him who defeated Lazarus once before can." Malik looked up, and began to laugh- a thick coarse sound that was filled with mirth and malice.

Karl swallowed. He knew innately he did not want the answer to the question he would ask now but the situation was becoming more desperate. He knew the Cardinal was pressed. People were dying; innocents had already been added to that number. There was nothing left to do and even though his Eminence had not yet spoken his plan, Karl knew the course of action. He would call Gabriel Van Helsing to combat this evil. But even Karl knew Gabriel would need help.

And Karl was ready.

"Who will you send, Eminence?" Karl asked, mentally preparing himself for assignment. "Who defeated this monster before?"

"Your hope," Malik purred, affording another bow. "Lies in the grave with one Count Vladislaus Dracula."


	2. Gift of the Jinn

Author's Note: There's one word in this chapter that may throw those of you who haven't read Name of God off, but it's not too crazy. Please, enjoy and review!

**Chapter Two: Gift of the Jinn**

It was raining when Gabriel Van Helsing stepped from his carriage on the steps of the Holy See. He would always remember that with a certain amount of grim foreboding, thinking on how that should have been his first hint that no good could come of what would trespass in the days that would follow. But how could he have known, then, what was in store? The darkness and pain that would come were still unformed, and he was still ignorant of all that would come. So now, when he dismounted, his boots soaked when they made contact with a puddle, the only thing that ran through Gabriel's mind was a curse.

Gabriel lifted one foot, and studied it, idly. It was the prefect addition to his bad mood. He wanted to curse again, but chose not, biting back his ire and stepping over the puddle with a small hop to make his way into the building.

"Why does it smell like wet dog?"

The voice was soft, and older now, but the careless, child-like mirth in it was what captured Gabriel's attention. Lifting his chin, Van Helsing smiled at the approaching figure of his friend and confidante. Karl's face was already brightened with a smile, one that only deepened as he embraced Gabriel.

"The journey from Vienna was easy, I hope?" Karl prodded, as he pulled away and took the lead into the cathedral.

Gabriel nodded, "As soon as Lucien and Jared were in control of the situation I returned here on the fastest ship I could charter, as ordered." He paused for a moment, "But I don't understand why."

"Jeremy and Rani were killed last week."

Gabriel swallowed, "I had heard…rumors. Nothing I cared to believe was true though."

"I'm sorry."

"Was it the thing they were hunting in Congo? Is that my new mission, to destroy it?"

"No," Karl whispered, turning towards one of the many hidden tunnels and descending it. Gabriel glanced around and followed him, surprised that how easily they were able to slip underground while parishioners and clergy mingled around them. He was about to entertain that thought when he noticed Karl hadn't added anything. Usually, he could never get Karl to shut up. Silence was never his virtue.

"Is there something else?" He asked.

"They were able to complete their last mission." Karl said softly. "They were attacked on their way home." He stopped himself from continuing and gave Gabriel a meaningful look. "As for the rest, you should hear Cardinal Pacelli explain."

Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli was a tall, lean figure with cold gray eyes and lines that cast shadows over his face. The way he looked in his red robes were awkward, almost foreign and the smile he gave Gabriel and Karl as they approached was insincere and pressed. Gabriel didn't like Pacelli, it was true. He didn't like Pacelli's need for show, like now, as the Cardinal recline purposefully behind his huge oak desk. Gabriel would stop short of referring to the Cardinal as evil (at least he would if he were in unfamiliar company) but although he could not boast of any personal friendship; Gabriel knew he could trust Pacelli's judgment on matters.

Which made the grim expression on Pacelli's face all the more disturbing.

Pacelli looked up, rose as Gabriel and Karl approached and immediately took the lead to one of the Order's private alcoves. "I don't know how much Karl has told you, so I'll begin anew."

Gabriel spoke before thinking, "Are there pictures in this presentation?" Beside him Karl made a coughing sound in a feeble attempt to drown out laughter.

"Is to correct to assume you know what Jinn are, Mr. Van Helsing?"

"Beings born out fire according to Islamic tradition." Gabriel supplied, looking up at the ceiling as the corridors became narrower and danker. They were traveling towards the darker, deeper parts of the cathedral, to places even Gabriel rarely traversed. "Like humans, they're born without predetermined alliance to Good or Evil." Pacelli had stopped in the far end, just shy of reaching the end of the world (or more commonly known as the Libraries.) The Cardinal produced a sinister looking key to a small door but gave no sign for Gabriel to stop. "Some have been captured by magicians who enslave them to do their bidding. These are Genie."

Pacelli nodded, and pushed open the door. "And like all of God's creations, even Genie have their uses." He said simply, admitting Karl and Gabriel into the room.

Gabriel frowned at the creature that met them. "Hello, Malik."

The Jinn rose from his crouching position against the wall, and as he did, a small wisp of smoke followed behind him like a tail. He gave Gabriel a knowing smirk, side-stepping into a deep bow. "Well met, Gabriel Demonslayer."

"Dramatic as always, I see." Van Helsing muttered, removing his hat and looking towards Pacelli. "What's going on here? I know you didn't call me back for a reunion with this…creature."

"Creature?" Malik purred, waving his hand and producing the smallest flame in his palm. "I was old and royal when you were still a parasite in your mother's womb. I have served Kings, Mullahs and monsters in my years and I won't suffer your disrespect."

"You have my contempt as well, Jinn."

Malik smiled. "And fear?"

Gabriel met the demon's eyes and smiled easily. "Yes, Malik Chained-one. You have my fear."

"As it should be!" Malik replied, walking towards Van Helsing and kissing his hand. Gabriel laughed a little at the drama and staging but allowed it. Especially since Malik, through his lies and double-talk would tell Gabriel more then Pacelli would. The Jinn seemed to know this too, and gave him a dark look. "Is the great Demonslayer prepared for Lazarus?"

"Lazarus?" Gabriel frowned, "Who is Lazarus?"

"Your assignment." Pacelli offered, giving Malik a stern look. "Lazarus is a free Jinn, allied to Evil. He has the ability to capture the spirits of his victims, using their knowledge and their powers for his own purposes. He's begun to challenge to Order, attacking our Knights and slowly amassing their skills." Gabriel realized the Cardinal seemed scared. "He's coming after Rome."

Gabriel set his jaw, looking to Malik for some hint. The Jinn's bright eyes dimmed, and the scarred tissue on his arms smoldered like dying coal. Jinn were terrible at hiding their fear, Gabriel decided and anything strong enough to make Malik worried made Gabriel…interested. "How long do I have?"

"We don't know." Karl said from his corner. "Could be as soon as next week according to our reconnaissance. We sent out four teams to attempt slow him down but…" His eyes dimmed. "We're sure they won't keep him long."

"Where is he now?"

"Lazarus was imprisoned near Ephesus in Anatolia, on holy ground. He's still bound by some of the territorial magic. He can only travel on Muslim soil."

"Anatolia and the Mid-East are strong in Islam, that doesn't give us much."

"We have to accept what little we have."

"I suppose you're right." Gabriel muttered, and began to cough into his hand. Wincing inwardly at the inopportune time, he produced a handkerchief, which he hid when he was done. Only Malik saw the blood that had stained the cloth but the Jinn said nothing. "So how do I kill him?"

"You can't kill Jinn."

"Fine, how do I put him back in his prison?" Pacelli quieted, looking for the right words. Karl had begun to study the woodwork of the door. Gabriel's bad feeling was increasing. He inhaled slowly. "Do we have any idea?"

"Lazarus was imprisoned was a Vampire centuries ago." Malik began, twirling his fingers again as if to sign out what had happened. "He had tried to encroach on the Vampire's lands, and rather then suffer this, the Vampire took Lazarus' mortal lover as his own and trapped him in Christian holy land." Malik looked up, giving Gabriel a sad expression that Van Helsing knew he didn't mean. "The Vampire was killed, and since slowly his magic has begun to wan. Your only hope lies in the Vampire's knowledge."

The room had begun to darken, as Gabriel understood. It made sense now; he thought bitterly, the lack of knowledge, the silence and most of all his presence there. He knew, as real and solid as the others stood in the room the identity of the Vampire. And his own purpose for being there. Blind rage began to fill his heart and head but he didn't speak. He didn't trust his voice to speak. He had to wait a few moments before fully accepting the truth of the matter and then, in his softest voice he spoke.

"Go to hell."

"That's where they plan to send me." Malik said, motioning to Pacelli and Karl. "To retrieve Vladislaus from his pit."

"Your not serious." Gabriel whispered turning on Karl. "You're not seriously planning on bringing Count Dracula back…after all he's killed, all he's done. After he's almost imprisoned a family, his own family in Veritgo and enslaved his people for centuries! After he's challenged the throne of God himself, you're planning to bring back that monster."

"There's no other way."

"The hell there isn't!" He shouted, enraged at Pacelli's quietness. "There's another way, there has to be. And even if this is the only one, let Lazarus come then! Dracula cannot-will not help you!"

"It's him or us." Pacelli returned.

"Then do what you will, I won't help."

"Will you let your own anger cloud your judgment?"

"In this moment, yes."

"God allows all things…"

"That doesn't mean He condones it."

Pacelli began to speak, but Karl stopped him. The Friar stepped forward, reaching over and touching Gabriel's arm. "Gabriel," Karl whispered. "Dracula was a monster, and no one refutes that, but without him we're lost and all the good we've done, and will do…ends if we're finished. Everything stops if Lazarus is allowed to continue." He paused and met Gabriel's knowingly. "And everyone who died for this…will have died in vain."

A small eternity passed between them before Gabriel found the words to speak. "What you do, do quickly."

Malik rose a brow as Karl went to work with the Jinn. Malik leaned close to the Friar's ear. "How did you know that would work?"

Karl looked up. "I didn't."

Gabriel stood mute as the events unfolded before. His body was numb and his mind was dark with pain. He didn't know what to feel or think, and the only sensation he was sure of a deep seated fear and throbbing pain that was gradually creeping though his whole body beginning from right behind his eyes. He watched as Karl chained Malik's wrist to the floor, watched as the Jinn was forced into a kneeling position. Malik lifted his proud brow to meet Gabriel's eyes, the creature's own small fires blazing within their prison and Gabriel found himself wondering how it must be to be a creature of immeasurable power- chained to the whim of humans. He wondered how it must be for Malik- who had seen stars born and countries fade- to sit now, in a darken room under a Cathedral and know his power could be only for the benefit of humans who would use it for such means as this.

And he felt sympathy for the creature.

"Remove the collar and stand back." Malik told Karl, but keep his eyes on Gabriel. "Place it in the far corner, away from this confinement and whatever you do…don't look into the light." He nodded slightly at Gabriel. "Forgive your servant his duty, Demonslayer."

Malik began to speak, slowly at first, in Arabic. As he did, the scars on his arms began to brighten like coals that gradually turned white with hot flame. His skin became luminous then, brightening and turning blue with heat. His words changed, from Arabic to some deeper tongue that none present could understand. Heat began to sap the air in room, causing Gabriel to become short on breath and retreat a little. He felt the heat on his face, but refused to turn away, refused to not be a witness to the crime that was going on.

Malik's voice began something thick and pained as the chant became screams. Human screams: not one but many all chorusing together to join with the flames and making the room a gateway to hell.

Finally, with one last screamed word, Malik's body erupted in a contained explosion of light and heat that made Gabriel push his arm up in front of his face in protection and look away. The screaming voices began to gel, becoming one voice in particular: tenor and panicked and speaking of a pain no one should ever have to suffer. The lights and heat died after a moment, but Gabriel refused to look back. The voice continued to scream until the vocal chords were ragged and exhaustion took over.

When Gabriel returned his gaze, he was stunned at the vision awaiting him.

Vladislaus Dracula was kneeling where Malik had been. Malik had been wider of frame then Dracula, and the clothes hung on Dracula's frame haphazardly, making the man's bleached skin look pale and blue. His whole body heaved with tortured gasps, forcing what little oxygen was left in the room into lungs that were not accustomed to air. His hair was matted, caked with sweat and slapped to skin. There was blood coming from Vlad's wrists from under the cuffs. Slowly, the shivering and heaving stopped and Dracula lifted his head to the ceiling, eyes shut, thin lips parted as if he was going to speak. He shook his arms, and became startled when he felt they were confined. His brown eyes flew open, staring down at his hands as he made short, soft panicked sounds, trying to jerk his hands free.

Then he saw Gabriel.

"Gadjo…" He whispered, as tears escaped his eyes down his sunken cheeks. "What's happened to me?"


	3. Absolution Sought

**Author's Note:** There's been a battle raging inside of me about whether or not this story should be a sequel to my previous work in this section called: In The Name of God and being that that battle has yet to be won by either side, I shall continue to keep this story purposely vague. I hope I am not burned at the stake too much for making Dracula appear more sympathetic then other "Vlad returns from Hell" stories and for making Karl a little more noble then he appears in the book or film. For both, blame Milton's Paradise Lost. I hope you enjoy this.

**Chapter Three: Absolution Sought**

It was sometime before the stain glass was broken but after Gabriel sent the chair against the wall when Van Helsing released a pained, enraged scream that shook the windows and made Malik shrink back in amusement and fear. Pacelli remained staring at the window, hands folded behind his back, in thought. There was helplessness in the air that made everyone tense, and uncertain. The grand plan had failed, and the last dim hope was fast becoming something torn and dying. Malik stood in the far corner of the Cardinal's offices, resting against the wall weakly. His skin was raw and pink, not the usual bronzed hue, and his eyes were blacked out coal with only the slightest glimmer of fire shining like a pupil. IN this weakened state, Malik looked human, weak.

Which is how everyone felt.

"What do you mean he's human?" Gabriel asked coldly, knuckles clutching the back of the last remaining chair till they turned white.

Pacelli inhaled, and repeated the truth once more. "We didn't take into account the nature of hell. Tormenting the soulless has no purpose; therefore a Vampire has no place in perdition. His human self however…" Pacelli's voice turned cold, upset that Vladislaus had been so uncooperative. "His humanity is what the devil wanted. That's what was imprisoned, and what Malik brought back."

"So he's useless to us."

Malik cursed and stepped forward. "My results are never useless! You asked for the man who defeated Lazarus, which is what I delivered. You have but a sword, untried. The knowledge you need rests within the heart. You need to release it."

"How?" Pacelli asked quietly. He had turned from the window to stare at the Jinn.

"A Nightfeeder. Return him to his place as Vampire Count, and you shall have your sword anew."

Gabriel looked up, studying Pacelli's face. The Cardinal's cheek twitched slightly, as if a momentary objection had risen in throat and was silenced just as quick. "He's human now. It makes him an innocent." Pacelli prodded softly. "Our duty to the world is to protect the innocents."

"Are not humans born into sin?" Malik countered, like he was supposed to. "And this one, brought back, should be doubly-damned for his crimes. Why not use his fate for some good?" There was a cold smile that crossed the Jinn's features, making the innate fire within flare with amusement. "You speak of healing blood, and blood making all things new…give Vlad back his thirst for blood and you have your means to heal."

Pacelli turned and met Gabriel's eyes for a moment. "I need to think on these matters." He said finally. "We will discuss this later."

* * *

There was something queer about the scene, Karl thought, as he sat, watching Vladislaus Dracula while Pacelli and the others discussed matters he had no desire to understand. Dracula had adjusted himself to sit upright, and had pulled his knees to his chest, hiding his head and crossing his arms over his legs. For a long time, he had been mumbling something in a tongue that Karl later realized to be Romany. Without appearing so, Karl had leaned forward to strain to hear what Dracula's words had been. He had realized to his chagrin that Dracula was praying.

Not to Satan, but to God.

Now, hours later it seemed, Vladislaus had stopped and just sat in his ball in silence. He pushed down legs, and touched his chest with the tips of his fingers, gingerly at first as if unfamiliar with his hand, his skin, his senses. Then, Vlad slid his hand flat over his chest, opening his mouth in wonder at the heart that beat under his flesh.

"It stings." He whispered suddenly, making Karl jump.

"Wha…what?" Karl asked, dumbly. He pushed himself up against the wall to stand in a feeble attempt to appear commanding. He wondered how opposing he could seem to the man who had once ruled nations.

"My…heart." Dracula whispered, in his familiar rough Gypsy brogue. Karl couldn't tell if the pause on words came from the roughness of his voice, or Dracula's hesitation on using English. The idea of Dracula being nervous when using English struck Karl as profoundly human. Whatever his musings however, Vladislaus was too concerned with his heart to care. He whispered the word twice more as if awed to be in possession of the muscle. "It hurts so much…" He looked up, staring at Karl with simple, trusting brown eyes devoid of all ire. "Father, do you take confession?"

"What?"

Dracula motioned weakly to his heart. "Confession. I seek absolution." A long pause. "For my sins…"

He can't be serious, Karl thought in awe. He's…well, certainly he must know who he is. Karl was quiet for a long time before walking towards Vladislaus and squatting down to be eye level with the prisoner. Karl kept his voice low, as if he were addressing a mad animal rather then the most hated of all monsters. "Do you truly seek absolution?"

Dracula looked up with the clearest brown eyes that for a moment lulled Karl into a feeling of security and sympathy. There was no hate behind those eyes, Karl noted, and despite his better judgment, the friar reached over to touch his cheek tenderly and push the hair from Dracula's face. Dracula exhaled heavily and leaned into the touch, hungry for any small sign of compassion. He took this one with great enthusiasm despite the pain and exhaustion he must have felt.

"I will take your confession." Karl said. He wanted very much to comfort the man, so much so, that had he the power in that moment- Karl would have released Dracula from his binds and sought a nurse. As it was, Karl could only offer the meager reprieve of a Confession. Gingerly, he crossed himself, calling to mind the proper words. "Bless you, son."

Dracula made a movement to mimic Karl in and cross himself but his chains held him fast. Vladislaus blinked back laughter and tears and looked over at Karl, before shifting to sit up straight on his knees. "For…forgive me, Father. I have sinned."

Karl shut his eyes, attempting to keep fear from his voice. "And what are your sins?"

Dracula's voice came through the darkness, shaky and emotion-choked. There was a tender panic that thickened his accent, making his ethnicity and unfamiliarity with English more evident. Sometimes Karl would catch words in an older form of Romanian but it was quickly silenced as if Dracula feared invoking something of his Gypsy past would aid in his damnation. "I…I have damned myself, Father. I believe I have sold myself to something terrible…and old. I was a fool to believe I could stop it, could hinder it someway, but now Father…I fear it has overtaken me." A shudder. A prayer in Romany, then continuation. "My Gods have forsaken me, my Lady falls silent when I need Her most, ignoring my faithful service. I have nowhere else to turn to. No one else can save me but you…they have abandoned me. I stood too long by their altars, clung too long to my ancient believes that now I wait here for my death." He looked up at Karl again. "Alone. Even Gabriel has abandoned me." There was a terror that filled his brown eyes, making him appear so terribly young. "I would doubt that stars and Angels existed, but never…never would I have imagined a instance that would part me from Gabriel. Father, if you know tell me what terrible thing has past to cause this. Tell me what has transpired, and for God's mercy tell me what is my sin?"

Karl shuttered. "You do not know?"

"I have such terrible visions." Dracula whispered, hoarsely. "Sensations and illusions from Satan himself." His eyes shut as his face twisted into pain. He forced the next words out. "I…taste…blood…Father. On my lips, in my mouth…I want to scream but I cannot. There's such terrible pain, a…a hunger…somewhere deep inside as if Satan himself has nestled within me." He touched his mid-section then, gingerly, and afraid to awake whatever specter awaited him. "It's a monster, as dark as night and just as cold. So hungry…so voracious, that I cannot fight him. I feel him…mocking Gods and men, tearing out of me and reaching skyward as if he means to tear down heaven with his claws." No longer able to contain the terror and pain, Vladislaus slumped forward, into Karl's arms and broke into sobs. "Such terrible thoughts, Father! Such tastes! Tell me you can give absolution…tell me you can release me from these crimes that cannot be mine!"

Karl rocked Dracula in silence, rubbing small circles on Vladislaus' back. He wanted very much to grant absolution, to promise peace and Zion to Dracula but knew, somehow, somewhere, that no redemption could be sought for crimes like Dracula's. But the believer him challenged the cynic. He was a man of God, and what right had he to deny Christ's mercy to anyone, regardless of their sins.

Or was the mercy of the Nazarene only for a select few.

Karl made up his mind then that he would do whatever was in his power to help Dracula.

"Have faith, my son…the crimes you speak of belong to a dead man. They have no part of you now." Karl whispered, quietly. "Your days of fighting are over."

"There's still one more battle." Called a cold voice from the doorway.

Karl and Dracula looked up, directly at Gabriel who had spoken. He was regarding Karl with a dark, hateful glare although the rest of his face was mask. He turned behind him, to where Pacelli and Malik were; all three had been keeping watch but for how long Karl couldn't say. From some unknown well within him, Karl drew courage and tightened his grip around Vladislaus. The man responded by leaning closer to Karl. They never once looked at each other. There had been an understanding made somewhere in the moments between; a deep unfettered trust that whatever awaited them, they would face together.

Gabriel looked down, replacing his hat on his head and nodding grimly. There was a new look on his face, a resolute veneer had taken his features and fixed them on a course of action but whatever the intentions were was unclear.

"You do not to weight the matter," Gabriel told Pacelli, "We're leaving."

"He's no use in this condition." Pacelli reminded him and Gabriel ignored him.

"Send word to the others to amass in Thessalonica. We'll be there after we take a small detour in Naples."

"And what's in Naples?"

"Not what." Gabriel told him, "Who." Gabriel turned and began to walk down the hall. "We'll meet Moshe there."

Pacelli's face darkened as he sought to match a face to the name, and then, as understanding hit the Cardinal did something that set Karl more on nerve then Gabriel's cool calm voice.

Pacelli smiled.


	4. In Memoriam

**Chapter Four: In Memoriam**

Vladislaus pulled the linen curtain aside gingerly at first as if he feared for a moment the sun would do him bodily harm. In truth, Karl was nervous about that too, but as the thin rays of sunlight touched Vlad's face, nothing happened and the man was brave enough to unlatch the door and push open the window to let the evening breeze waft through the room. The air caught his hair and whipped it around his face, and the once feared Count laughed at the sensation as if it was the breath of God Himself. He turned his head, letting the air caress his cheeks, and play his earring. Again, his tenor laughter filled the small hotel room and made Karl laugh too.

"Be careful," Karl warned, as he poured the cheap table wine. "It's going to get cold soon and you shouldn't get sick."

"Yes, father." Vlad returned teasingly, as he stared at the ocean beating against the shore only a few feet from his window. He had a childlike longing in his eyes; his attention darting from the purple sky once, and now to the red sun, and now to the sands that burned gold or the chocolate colored dogs that chased birds through the surf.

There was a small sampling of meats, cheese and breads left by the innkeeper for a late dinner and Karl was busy at work dividing them up. Vladislaus had begun to hum in Spanish, a small upbeat ditty that reminded Karl of seafaring songs used to keep the oarsman in sync and at their duty.

"Where did you learn that tune?" He asked.

Vlad paused, "My mother's family." He said and the quiet, pained respect in his voice struck Karl. "They were merchants, in Grenada. Before the wars, I would take a small clipper to Africa on supply runs. I'd bring chocolate and spices brought from the trade routes to the Tripoli or Casablanca." He looked over. "I met Intessar there."

"Intessar?" Karl asked quietly. "Was she your wife?"

"No, she was a Saracen, we couldn't marry." His eyes fell for a moment. "She died in Vaseria…burned as a witch." Another long moment passed between them. "Because of me."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be." Gabriel murmured as he walked into the room, and looked over at Karl, refusing to acknowledge Vladislaus at all. "They used young wood."

"What does that mean?" Karl demanded meekly.

There was a small voice that answered him. Vlad looked sick, "It means the wood smoked first…Intessar was unconscious when she was burned alive."

"Aren't we merciful?"

Vladislaus turned away, to focus his attention back to the waves as they beat upon one another. He looked for a moment as if he wanted to be lost in the chaos before him. Karl glared at Gabriel for a long time but the Knight kept silent. Van Helsing was staring at Vlad; he had meant to provoke the Count into action; to see something of the demon that had caused so much evil.

All he found was a man lost in memory.

"Why don't you take a swim," Gabriel offered, tugging his coat on. "Karl, go ahead. Maybe the sun will…"

"That's enough." Karl chided. "Go and do whatever business brought you here. We'll be fine."

"Watch him." Gabriel hissed before disappearing through the door. There was a long silence as Karl searched for some way to alleviate the darkness Van Helsing's cruelty had called on.

"Why does he hate me so?" Vlad asked.

"He has his reasons."

"Reasons you won't tell me."

"Not yet. Soon."

"When?"

"…soon." Karl pushed open the door and smiled. "Come on, let's go for a swim."

Dracula stood up, meeting the Friar's gaze for a moment. Karl worried for a second that he would press the matter; instead, Dracula shrugged out of his coat and motioned Karl to take the lead.

The Synagogue was old and menacing. A few parishioners sat at intermitted spaces between one another to mumble through prayers or attempt to feel holy. An old Rabbi sat near the front, rocking slightly to keep pace with his mumbling. Apart from his black dress, wide brim hat, and curls he was no more memorable then any other person there (and indeed there were several men dressed similar) but Gabriel Van Helsing spotted him instantly. The Rabbi had the typical appearance of a Jew, and it was almost comical, as if someone had drawn this man specifically to play a villain. From his hooked nose, to his wide forehead and small hands clasp together in prayer. Without ever meeting him, Gabriel instantly took a dislike.

But, it was not his interest in the Rabbi that drew Gabriel's attention to him. Taking a seat near the end, Gabriel waited patiently as he finished his prayers. Eventually, the robust man rose, gathered his robes around him and exited the temple. Gabriel bowed his head, and waited.

A shadow stirred near the doorway, and fell into step behind the Rabbi. Young, Aryan by appearance, the shadow became a woman who appeared to have no awareness of Gabriel who had fallen into step behind her. With blond hair cut short and slicked back like a man's, the woman walked with all the purpose of a hunter behind the man and when her gait quickened, Gabriel retreated to a corner to watch.

She worked so quickly that a blink would have caused him to miss the attack. She drew back her cape, and sprung forward, making no sound and allowing the Rabbi no chance to scream. The moonlight caught her eyes for one brief moment and they reflected the light back, like a cat's, before white fangs caught Gabriel's attention, followed by the twin trails of blood that began to drip down the Rabbi's neck, only to disappear into his black robes. For a long time the Rabbi struggled wordlessly against his attacker until finally his body succumbed to death.

The woman dropped the weight disdainfully, and stood quiet for a moment, basking in the new blood.

"You could have stopped me." She spoke, leveling her eyes to the corner Gabriel was hiding.

"You seemed hungry."

"He was a thief." She continued as if he had not spoken at all. She looked down at the body and kicked it, before stepping over it and crossing the distance between them. "He stole money from his own congregation to finance homes for him…and his Christian mistresses."

"We all need our hobbies."

Moshe Sayar a rebuking noise. Her hands appear again from under her cloak, and they clasped Gabriel's in a firm grip- both her hands encompass one of his. Her grip was still as firm and callous as he remembered it, but now there was a deathly chill to her fingers- as the night had struck her with a cold she could never shake. That much was true.

Hers was a tragic story, if put into romantic terms, but one all too common if viewed for what it truly was. She had been a Knight of the Holy Order, feared and talented if known for being somewhat brutal. Rough, unpolished but not cold, Moshe had undertaken her mission with the same type of zeal most young Knights did: with the firm complete belief that hers was a mission from God and as such, no harm could come to her. She was young, brash and naïve.

And she had loved Gabriel very much.

There had never been words passed between them concerning this, nor betraying looks or actions. No one dared caused rumors for fear of the two, and so hers became a great unreturned love. Gabriel was still in love with his immortal Anna at this time, and Moshe never dared to replace a woman she had never known. To do so was to alter Gabriel in her mind and she could not allow that. She merely existed somewhere in between; always in the shadows watching her great love or on his arm teasing him while never betraying the truth. She existed somewhere behind Anna's memory, somewhere in between the nightmares and dreams.

And she had died there.

It was a mission no different then hundreds before. The place was Vienna, the evil, an ancient Vampire; the rest were merely details. She was to hunt down the villain and destroy it. She was ambushed. Gabriel avenged but unable to complete the mission by tying up all lose ends (and in truth, no Knight would have dared touched Moshe- it would have been beyond comprehension to hurt a comrade in arms.) This left Moshe in a state of vertigo. She had had no life beyond the Knights of the Holy Order and there was no way she could have continued in her vocation. So she was left, alone, to mete out some semblance of a life.

As it turned out, Moshe had a taste for vigilantism.

And bringing attention back to the corrupt dead Rabbi at her feet, Gabriel adjusted his coat over his frame as he pulled away from Moshe's touch. He looked skyward in an attempt to hide the truth from his eyes. "Have you heard?"

"Rumors and conjecture." Moshe whispered. "There's talk the Knights are scared, collecting for a final stand."

"We are." He answered. There was no time to lie. "He has the means to undo us…"

"Who?"

"They call him Lazarus."

Moshe folded her arms around her, eyes looking downward. "And there is no hope? No way out?"

"There is always a way out." Gabriel swallowed, glancing at her. "If we are strong enough to take it."

Sayar met his eyes defiantly. There was blackness behind the words that troubled her, callousness to his voice that had no place there; this made Moshe frightened. Still, the Vampire narrowed her eyes to appear interested. "And where does your final chance come from?"

Gabriel shrunk from her gaze. "From the Devil, or at the very least his child."

"We have seen much, you and I, Gabriel…but never enough to prove a Devil."

"That's alright. We didn't find him here. We went to hell to bring him back."

"You used Malik, did you?" Moshe asked, stepping away from Gabriel and folding her hands over herself as if she were cold. Gabriel walked behind her, putting his hands over her shoulders and stroking them gently.

"We did what we had to do." He told her, leaning down and touching his lips to her skin. Like he knew she would, Moshe never pulled away. "And now we come to you to help us."

"What would you desire of me?"

"To give our last hope a fighting chance."

"You mean damn him to my fate."

"He was already once before."

Moshe turned at his words to face him. Her eyes widen. "Dracula? You brought back Dracula?" She shook her head, vigorously. "You don't know what you did…"

"I do. Pacelli thought it was worth the risk."

"Then do you know what you ask of me?" Moshe demanded. "To give Dracula back his Vampirism is to welcome a new war. Do you think he'd help you after murdering him?"

"He doesn't remember that."

"And do you think, as a Vampire, this amnesia would continue?"

"I don't know."

"You could be committing suicide."

Gabriel grunted angrily. "Stop telling me things I already know!" He stared at her. "Will you help me or not?"

Moshe stared into his eyes for a long time, disbelieving. Finally, she stepped away from him once more. "I will help you, in memory of the Knight I once was." Then, bowing her head, she added. "And in memory of the one you were once as well."


	5. Waking the Elder Gods

Author's Note: Inspired partially by American Gods, Neverwhere (both books written by Neil Gaiman), Star Wars and oddly enough Heaven on their Minds a song from Jesus Christ Superstar. Hey, I don't insult where you get your ideas, do I? Be kind, leave a review. And oh yes, a cookie to who can tell me who or what Mammon is. No, he's not Gambit.

**Chapter Five: Waking the Elder Gods**

The coin he played was old and tarnished. Gold with a god with two faces on one side, and a horned creature on the other, the coin would glisten every so often when it caught the reflection of his skin. The man himself, if he could be called that, was dressed in finery, and heavy pouches of gold and goods hung around his narrow frame. He sat now, reclining on the back two legs of his chair, with his mud-caked boots on the table. By his boots, another bundle of gold rested. A narrow strip of silk covered the place his eyes should be, and a beggar's cane rested by his arm.

When he had first entered the tavern, a youth had picked him for a lift. He had waited till the man had a few drinks in him before easing over and trying to lift the bundle. The man had grabbed his cane and with one swift, deft swipe dislocated the youth's jaw. Another swing, this one on the return, had broken a knee.

They left him alone after that.

His chin lifted slightly as he heard the door open. Lifting his hand idly, he motioned to the waitress to refill his drink and smiled a little.

"I thought I smelled rotting meat." He purred, and motioned to empty chair across from him. "So, he called you too."

"He didn't call me, Mammon. He commanded me. And I would kill him if I had the chance for that disgrace."

Mammon smiled, but bit back laughter and shifted as began to combat the sudden rush of energy that came over him. Even for a Being as strong as he, Macha's pull was a powerful one. In her glory days, she had one of the threefold Goddesses of War. Her arrival herald in great carnage, and in her wake, Macha left rotting corpses and bards to tell her stories. Even now, he could hear arguments arise among various patrons of the tavern. He shook his head in disgust; he had little use for carnage.

There was no money in it.

"You would fail." He told her simply. "Besides," He reached over and took her hand. "My company isn't that bad, is it?"

He heard Macha laugh a little, and then felt her hand engulf his. She felt like a skeleton, and was cold to the touch, but when she spoke; her voice was softer and lyrical. He had to lean in to hear her and decided he liked her voice. "So, why did the Old Man call us?"

"His agent inside the Holy Order told him some alarming news."

"Do I have to guess?"

"No, the pause is for dramatic purposes only." Mammon took a sip of his drink, barely flinching at the sound of a table crashing near them. He smiled, giving Macha he best disgruntled look his "blind" eyes could manage. He swore he saw her smile. Suppressing his annoyance, Mammon resumed his thought. "The Order played right into the plan. Count Dracula has returned; the Order hopes he'll aide in the counteroffensive."

There was a pause as Macha digested the news. "Do they know about him and Lazarus yet?"

"Not yet. The agent inside the Holy Order claims Dracula is human."

Macha laughed: a thick, terrible laughter that sounded like charging brigades and crying wounded. Mammon ran his fingers over his gold to comfort himself. "They're being predictable. What's worst, they're making deals with the Devil himself."

Mammon leaned back, "You forget, that was the plan…"

Macha licked her lips, pulling a flask from her side and drinking the foul-smelling black liquid in one gulp. "He promised me a war." She said simply.

"You sound almost disappointed."

"There will be no glory in this."

Mammon twirled his gold coin between his fingers. "We go back a long time, you and I Macha." Macha laughed again, nostalgic sort of way, pressing him to continue. "So understand what I say next, what the Man is planning…we're not ready for. None of us. This war…" He shivered. "This war has no winners."

Macha looked at him disapproving. "There is glory to be won. That is victory enough. You dwell too much on material possessions."

"Material possessions are only part of my domain." Mammon rebuked her before thinking, and then blinked under the silk blindfold and paused. He would have to choose his words wisely. Macha was a War Goddess, she could not know of those like himself who, during their glory days, had dwelt among humans every day. His dealings with them made him soft to their plights- despite this fact his domain always lead to their ruin.

Still, who was he to buck against himself? He was only Mammon and as much a slave to his own desires as the next. With one final flourish, he palmed the gold coin and tucked it into his pocket before standing.

"Come on." He told Macha. "We have a war to jump start."

Macha grinned, and rose to her feet. She turned, stepping daintily over the bodies of those who had been injured in a bar fight that somehow had erupted around them, and followed Mammon out the exit. Once her face encountered the cold air, she lifted her chin and sniffed the air.

Yes, War was coming.

-------------

He could stop this before it happened.

The thought occurred to Vladislaus suddenly, as he came up for air amid his horse playing with the Friar but once realized, it took root in the back of his mind and grew. His arms were clamped firmly around Karl's narrow chest, holding him just above the water-level, shouting at Karl to beg for mercy. The holy man would not surrender, and amid laughter and sheer instinct, continued to splash around in the water- trying to get free. It was the most fun Vladislaus could remember having in far too long.

And something desperate and childish in his head, wanted to keep this happiness for as long as he could. Quietly, his mind went to work against itself. Something was coming. It was an old feeling that struck Vladislaus down to the marrow. Familiar and frighteningly, the sensation nevertheless curled into Vlad's skin like armor, and despite all reason, Vlad was calmed by the foreboding. He had within him all the assurance a man bred and trained for combat and glory could have. He had all he courage a Gypsy Count could possess and the wisdom to know how to use knowledge effectively.

But this didn't stop the tremor of fear that ran through his veins like ice, when he thought how Karl would be caught in this storm unawares.

No, he swore to himself. Everything else could fail in the upcoming battle, but not Karl. He would not allow harm to come to the simple man of God.

And he would die to protect him.

Reality came back as Karl snaked his body around, and pushed with his back against Vlad's grip. The sudden movement caused Vlad to stumble. Karl broke free just long enough to catch more in his lungs before plunging at Vlad- pushing the Gypsy under water.

"Plea for mercy!" Karl demanded. "Plea for mercy!"

"I surrender to you!" Vladislaus shouted playfully, only half-kidding. "I surrender to you!"

Karl blinked, catching the meaning and looked down at him. "I'm not the one to seek salvation from." He whispered.

"Gabriel will have none of my sorrow."

"Gabriel's not the one you should be looking to either." Karl seemed to want to say more but something took his voice.

Vladislaus sensed it a moment later, he stood, letting the incoming waves crash around his legs. He looked towards the horizon for the source. He narrowed his eyes, straining to see in the ink black night. And he cursed himself. He had been able to control night itself. He had had the power to use the blackness as his weapon when he had been king.

And like the previous thought, he wondered when this had passed. He wondered where the memory of such dominion over the night came from. In his stomach, something twisted, eager for release.

This time, he wasn't afraid. He almost welcomed it.

"What do you see?"

He became aware of Karl's eyes on him, and felt a stab of guilt. Licking his lips, he motioned for Karl to be quiet.

Two creatures were coming. He could see them now clearly, and knew Karl could not. There was something about these figures that was alarming familiar. He was beginning to feel like he was barely beginning to wake up, into his life. He knew these figures. They were not friends. But they were allies.

But they meant to harm the Friar.

"Father…" He whispered urgently, "Get to the room and get weapons."

Karl's eyes widen as he scrambled after Vlad to the beach. He opened his mouth twice before actually forming words. "Gabriel and Moshe will be coming soon…we just have to…wait, they'll come…" Karl met the other man's eyes and saw it then: the fire of a creature born of Hell, with all dominion over it. He saw the darkness of command festering in Vlad's eyes, coming to capture what had been uncertain about Vlad only moments before.

And, in short, he was afraid. This was not Vlad, this was Count Dracula.

But not yet.

"Enough talk! I can't protect you, unarmed. Trust me, Father." Dracula hissed. He turned back towards the horizon and the advancing figures. "Gabriel won't make it in time."


	6. Cross and Counter

Author's Note: Uneven, slightly one-side and possibly confusing. I love Mammon. He's so melodramatic. Enjoy. P.S, I have no idea where the title of this chapter came from.

**Chapter Six: Cross and Counter**

"How long have you been dying?" Moshe's voice was cool and unobtrusive but it still stopped Gabriel in his tracks. He turned, staring at her in the darkness. She looked like Death itself. Her eyes were staring into his with infinite patience he had seen in Vampire eyes for time without memory.

He felt tired staring into her eyes. Like all those centuries upon centuries that suddenly felt heavy on his shoulders.

Gabriel licked his lips and tried to bring strength to his voice even though it was futile. He had meant to refute her, to call her a liar but was only able to mutter. "How did you know?"

Moshe smiled, revealing polished white fangs that cut through his memory and reminded him that the woman before him was not the child-warrior who had doted on him years before. "It's something in the gait," She told him. "Something in the heaviness of the footfall, and the smell..." She was closing in the distance between them and before he knew it, Moshe had her cold hand on his shoulder. The burden seemed to lighten under her touch. "But mostly, it's in the despair that's in your eyes."

"Despair?"

"It wasn't there before." She titled her head. "I wonder why it is now."

Gabriel let his shoulders sag and he caught her hand as if fell from his shoulder. He felt her cold fingers entwine with his. Had this been years ago, he would caught her breath catch in excitement and feel the small pleasure of knowing he had caused her happy. As it was now, Moshe's body gave no hint to her excitement. Death had taken so many of the small details out of the equation.

"I'm dying." He told her. Not really realizing that this had been the first time he had admitted it aloud. "But it's a cruel…slow death. I suffered no wound, I suffered from no infirmary. Instead, it's just…a waning." He touched his chest, as if surprised at the fact his heart still beat underneath. "Like, I'm slowing down, wasting away and it's like my body won't let me." His eyes closed, forbidding his mind to think. "What if…"

"What are you thinking, Gabriel?" Moshe asked, slowly. Her grip tightened. Her concern, sincere. He found himself longing to believe her. He felt so alone, suddenly. He wanted comfort. He wanted company. He wanted Anna.

"Pacelli tells me I lived this long for a reason. Before him, Jinette told me the same thing. Before him, Imam Jabari and on and on…they all said that everything I lost was for some greater good, to repay something…I didn't understand then, but I wanted too. I wanted to believe them. I knew if I just followed their orders, I would pay it back. I would…make it better."

"And you have, haven't you?" Moshe attempted. "Surely whatever you did, whatever passed to give this burden was repaid years ago, with the blood of your lost… "

"I don't think so." Gabriel murmured. He found his hand over hers; brushing a silver ring he wore since before he could remember. A ring that had once belonged to the man he was now going to damn. "I think…" He looked over at her, searching her eyes for understanding. All he met was the simple blank mask that was a Vampire's right. He found himself speaking before he ever had thought about it. "He trusts me."

"Who?"  
"Dracula. I look at him and all I see is the reason Anna was killed, I see an abomination, a son of whatever dark forces challenge us. I see the man who knew my past, and flaunted it. I see the one who tried to make me a slave…but it's not him." Gabriel shuttered in fear. "I'm looking at those eyes. And it's him but there's something else…"

Moshe pulled her hand back. Waiting.

"I know that man." He told her, although he struggled with each word. He could not afford to feel this way, he knew. "I know the poor fool who waits for me to return with you. I know him, and I…care for him."

"What are you saying Gabriel?"

"I don't know. But it's like…I remembering him. Not full pictures but more like sensations, whispers of emotions…"

"What do you feel then?"

Gabriel looked away, the beach was coming up. Vladislaus was waiting for his fate with simple childlike trust in a friendship Gabriel could not remember but Vlad clung to like life itself. There waiting with him was Karl who could never forgive him. Gabriel felt weak again.

"Despair." He whispered.

But Moshe didn't catch it. Her eyes were scanning the beach, narrowing in wariness, as he hands curled like she was expecting claws to erupt from her skin. Gabriel saw this, and reached for his guns. In the years that passed, Gabriel had never grown tired of his Karl-developed arsenal: a gas-powered cross bow and two six shooters. He had, however, upgraded to include more automatic firepower and classic small blades.

He pulled the six-shooters first. He could get better aim with those.

Moshe turned and smiled at him: a pure dark smile. A hungry smile. "Try to remember," She hissed. "I am not your enemy." With that, she howled. A terrific, terrifying battle cry before throwing herself into the melee.

Gabriel cursed, and holstered one of the guns to follow suit.

Mammon swung about just in time to dodge Moshe's well placed attack. The Vampire hissed and bared her teeth at him. Normally Mammon would have just smiled, and jumped into an altercation with her. But it was not his time to start the war. They were only to aggravate the soldiers. Instead, he chuckled, blowing her a kiss.

"Yes," He assured her, "I'm sure you're very frightening."

"You have no idea." She countered, throwing her weight into him.

She succeeded in pushing him off balance. Mammon fell into the water, and a second later, she was on him, pushing him under water. Water began to fill Mammon's lungs, making him choke- more out of habit then actual need. He smiled. He liked her. But he was getting bored.

He pushed himself up, slamming Moshe back. She stumbled, and glared up at him, amazed that he could throw her off like a rag doll. "You're not human," She stammered. "Nor Jinn!" He had caused her to bleed; no creature she had faced in her reborn life had ever succeeded in that attempt.

"No." He allowed, crossing to her. He offered his hand to her.

"What are you?" She hissed, reaching up to take his hand, then grabbing it firmly and throwing him down. Mammon jerked free, and kicked her firmly in the jaw.

"I am Cursed." He told her. "And you cannot defeat me, no one born of humanity can."

"The hell I can't." She stood again and kicked him but the blow went wild. She was getting fatigued and the sun was about to appear soon. He didn't want her to die, but she wasn't going to accept a defeat.

Foolish woman, he thought and a tremor of pure hatred came from his gut to his throat and blinded him. How come humans never accepted that some battles could not be won! Behind him, Macha was thriving on the battle between her, Gabriel and Vladislaus. War was her domain, she loved it. He cared he nothing for the lost that was left in his wake.

And he was beginning to feel sick.

"See? I told you, you cannot win! What do you think to accomplish from this?" He demanded, angry now. He could feel the dawn coming. And if he felt it, the Vampire must have as well. He wondered briefly for a moment why she wasn't retreating yet and then, understood grimly why she hadn't. His magic was working on her: she was greedy for revenge, for this victory. He had riled her and nothing short of complete victory was satisfy her hunger.

"Listen to me, girl…dawn is coming." He told her. "Run and hide in your shadows!"

She wasn't listening. She jumped up again, and attacked. She would keep attacking him until the Sun came to kiss her skin. He was so disgusted that for a moment, he was tempted to remain their till her demise was certain. But to do so would be to leave the Knights helpless.

And it would render Lazarus' plans useless.

He turned and caught sight of the others. Macha was standing, feet apart in front of Karl. Gabriel had fallen back, reloading his guns even though the bullets merely passed through Macha like air. Vladislaus had taken up a place dangerously close to Macha and was doing his best in hand-to-hand combat with her.

His strength was coming from pure desperation: fed from the fear for the priest's safety and the hunger that gleamed from his eyes. Mammon could see part of the man who had once been his Master-and Macha's- gleaming from behind the human veneer. He half-expected for Vladislaus' true nature, the hell beast, to burst forth at any moment. But whatever anger that might have spurned the creature to action was kept firmly in check, by the fear.

Fear for Karl's safely and perhaps the priest's opinion of him.

Mammon almost laughed aloud. How very human.

Reaching out, quick to end this game, Mammon grabbed Moshe by her hair and ripped her to her feet. She screamed again, and he made sure this time it caught their attention.

"Macha!" He called. "It's time we finished this!"

Vladislaus spun about, catching sight of Moshe. He frowned, stepping back and pushing away from Macha to stare at the woman. A shadow of recognition passed over his face, as he whispered one name.

"Verona?"

Mammon tightened his grip around Moshe's neck and for a moment, seriously considered breaking it. Macha met his eyes and smiled. Their work was done.

"Why summon your bride in the company of her murderers, Count?" Mammon demanded for theatrics. "Or did they not tell you that? Did they neglect to mention, when they pulled you from hell, that it is Gabriel's hand that put you there! Did they tell you, they were why you died! Why you were damned!"

He threw Moshe towards them. Gabriel jumped ahead, catching the Vampire as she stumbled. He was on his knees now, staring up at Mammon mutely. Karl had stood, erect now and shocked into a similar silence.

Only Vladislaus seemed unmoved. He stood firmly in his place, with the waves crashing around his legs, and the sky turning purple around him. He was meeting Mammon's dark eyes with resignation and the only slightest hint of acceptance. Mammon kept his face towards Vlad's till the last, even as Macha pulled him away and disappeared with him: leaving the smallest whisper on the air: like gunpowder and ozone.

No one spoke for a long time.

Karl was first to look at the horizon, then to Moshe and Gabriel. "Dawn is here. We should get her inside."

"Yes," Moshe mumbled, pulling closer to Gabriel for comfort. "I need to rest."

"I'll…" Gabriel began but Karl rose a hand to silence him. Gabriel swallowed down his words and began to guide Moshe away. Karl waited till it was just him and Vlad. He had meant to find words of comfort, of pleading and assurance that would mend what the creature had said but before he could Vlad's clear voice broke the silence.

"Is it true?" Vlad asked. He was still staring at the ocean, where the two had disappeared. "What the blind man said, it is true?"

He could lie. He could stop this before it happened. Karl swallowed. "Yes, it's true."

Vlad's composure never faltered but when he turned, the darkness that had scared Karl earlier had taken root. "Tell me." Vlad whispered. "Tell me everything."


	7. Battle and Surrender

**Author's Note: **I bow humbly before the readers of this fic, and implore their forgiveness for my neglect. This story has forever been buzzing in my brain but evil Anime (Inuyasha) and life has hindered it's completion. Accept this small chapter as a token of my intentions. Expect more later.

**Chapter Seven: ****Battle**** and Surrender**

He was born Vladislaus of the Dragon, but everyone called him Vlad Dracula. He had been born to Count Valerious Dracul and his Romany wife Meriya. As a child, and the Count's heir Vladislaus had been groomed to prefect: versed in the ancient rites of his people, and raised to love his Goddess. As a teenager, and as the moods and powers changed across Romania he'd been baptized by the Church and thus began Dracula's choreographed dance of piety. He had fought for the Jewish God, married the Christian wife and said all the right Latin prayers (even as he whispered the old benedictions to be heard by his heart and the goddess.) He loved his father, his brother and his kin. He had loved Gabriel.

And somewhere in the middle of his solo performance, Vladislaus had slipped.

He had stumbled, became disoriented and lost and in his blind groping of the dark, Vladislaus made a terrible, damning mistake. He ransomed his soul to the Devil.

Karl mumbled his way through the story as he knew it. He felt sick as he recounted: act by act all the evils that had become synonymous with Vladislaus of the Dragon: Count Dracula. He spoke until his voice became a dull drone that painted a history of four hundreds years of sin and murder, pain and blasphemy, war and scourge.

For his part, Vladislaus took it well.

The Count was on his knees choking up the poison from his lungs all over Gabriel's favorite overcoat. He had expelled his dinner and most of his lunch long ago and now there was only a dry heave that was choked at intervals by sobs and cracked, panicked curses in Romany.

"Verona."

Karl blinked and looked down at his charge, weak and emotionally spent himself. "What?"

"Verona." Vladislaus whispered again. "Marishka. Aleera."

Karl swallowed, "Your brides. They were the guiding factor in your last attempt to take on the Throne of God. They wanted…"

"Life." Vlad said with conviction. He looked up at Karl through blearily tear-soaked eyes. "That's all anyone ever wants, isn't it?"

"Some things can come at too high a cost."

"And how was I to know?"

"I don't know."

"Am I damned?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?" Vladislaus hissed, pulling away to walk towards the window. He pushed open the curtain to stare outside, then flinched as the sunlight burned his arm slightly. Inwardly, Vladislaus winced. "What is to become of me?"

"That's for you to decide." Karl stood. "Regardless of your past, Vladislaus, you've been given an opportunity to make amends. People would kill for that."

Vladislaus laughed. "I have."

"And this begs the question, what is left for you? You've sold your soul, now how do you intend to get it back?"

"I was of the mind there's no coming back from what I did."

"As long as there is life, there is hope."

"Is that what you call this?" Vlad asked. He turned, but fell silent as another figure appeared in the door. "Life?"

Moshe strolled in quietly, crossing the room and nestling into a large chair that faced them both. When she looked up, her eyes caught the light and reflected them back, like a cat. She crossed one leg over the other and tilted her head, watching him for a long time. "No." She whispered finally. "I'd call it hope."

"I know what you are now." Vlad told her harshly. "And I'm not afraid."

"Neither would I, if I were in your place." She returned. "After all, in many ways you are now and will forever be my superior." She leaned forward, folding her hands together. "You are Count Dracula; your hands bear the blood of hundreds, _thousands_. You sought to take on the Throne of God himself…"

"Moshe…" Karl warned, but the Vampire ignored him.

"And you succeeded." She finished. "You are the only one who has ever made Heaven and Hell stop to take notice. You took the power of Hell and made it your own. Do you know how many of our kind would gladly follow you now?" She motioned to him. "Even as you are."

Vladislaus turned away from her. "You speak as if I should be proud of this."

"Shouldn't you? You are a warrior, aren't you?"

"I never wanted war! I never wanted any of this."

"Then why did you ask for it?"

"I never…"

"Stop." Moshe hissed, angrily. "Think before you damn yourself with lies."

Dracula jerked away from her and Karl and turned to look down. His memory was pressing at the forefront of his skull, begging him to recall what had passed years ago. He saw Catherine first of all, and the searing hate that followed it. He felt his knuckles ache, and body coil for revenge hundreds of years denied. He had killed Catherine. He knew this from somewhere back in his mind. But it had been a half-victory. He remembered taking the life, seeing his step-mother's body wan into nothingness but had felt no joy from it; no grim satisfaction that his justice had been whole.

He had felt hollow.

A feeling that continued to plague him long after those shallow victories. Vladislaus inhaled deeply, trying to keep his thoughts centered on something real. He wanted something that would seem real to him in this ocean of memories and in the shadow of this terrible truth.

He felt Karl's arm on his shoulder. Turning, Vlad gave the priest the smallest of smiles: a weak thankful gesture.

He might have been a monster. He wasn't anymore.

"Those two that attacked us," Karl whispered as he returned his gaze to Moshe. "Who were they?"

"I don't know."

"I do." Vladislaus whispered. "I…almost remember them. They're Gods."

"Blasphemy."

Moshe, on the other hand, had paled. "Complicated is what this is. How could a Jinn like Lazarus be powerful enough to enslave old Gods?"

"He isn't, not by himself." Vladislaus told her. "He must have offered them something in return for their allegiance. I know those two. The woman was Macha, the Celtic Goddess of War."

"And the other."  
"Mammon. Babylonia. Karl should recognize the name."

The Priest had his head bowed, and raised it now to cross himself reverently. "Greed. He was powerful enough to challenge Christ."

"How could Lazarus purchases those two?" Moshe repeated nervously. "There's no…"

"There's something you haven't considered yet." Dracula murmured. "Maybe Lazarus isn't behind this."

"What do you mean? Of course he is…"

"Jinn can be enslaved, even Greed and War can be controlled…in the hands of the right Warlord."

Moshe's eyes were dark, and deadly. "Like you?"

Dracula looked past her. "Yes, if I had wished…someone like me."

"Rome should be informed of this." Karl said, standing. He looked very pale suddenly, and very young. "If there's something more to Lazarus' scheme then simple revenge…they should be warned."

Moshe nodded, her eyes smiling at Vlad. "Go ahead, father. I'll watch Dracula."

She waited till he had gone before reclining further back in her chair. Then, as methodically as ever, Moshe unwrapped her leg from the other and sat with them slightly apart. Dracula turned to watch her, his eyes intently on her legs before looking up to her eyes. There was callousness in her gaze, a thick hunger. He shivered a little and looked away.

"Did you?" She asked.

Dracula closed his eyes. "Did I what?"

"Control the Gods." Moshe continued as she stood. She crossed the room and touched his shoulder gently. He was surprised how soothing it felt. "I think even now you could, Dracula."

"I don't want that now."

"What do you want then?"

He turned and looked at her, catching her eyes. She was watching him hungrily. He realized somewhere in the back of his mind, that she was waiting for him. But for what he didn't know. He couldn't sense if she wished to make a lover of him, or a meal.

Before he could press further, she shrugged back her cloak, revealing her firm little frame and reached for his arm again. Her skin was cool and welcoming. It reminded him of his brides.

"Ask for anything," She encouraged.

Dracula bowed his head. "I want…the darkness to flee. I want this weight and fear that haunts my steps to be gone. I want to be the man I was, damn it all. I want things to make sense again. I want Rome to be safe, Gabriel and Karl to be safe. I want to know, I'm not the monster they say…or that I don't have to be anymore."

"You can have that." Moshe offered quietly. "I don't think you realize how much power you still posses. If you wished it. Truly wished it, the war would be over tomorrow. You could stop it."

"How?"

"That is not the question to ask of me."

"How can I stop it?" He began to demand, and then paused as he studied her. He caught the hunger in his eyes and understood. She didn't want a meal, a lover. She wanted a Master.

The Master.

Count Vladislaus Dracula.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Vladislaus closed his eyes. "I have someone to lose."

Moshe didn't look disappointed. She looked reserved, as if understanding she would not receive what she wanted now. But she would get it. She had time to wait. They both knew that, then. Somewhere in the middle, or perhaps before they had even begun, Dracula had lost. He knew it, Moshe knew it. It was only a matter of time before fate itself would deem it necessary to prove it.

Until that time, however, Dracula would fight. Lifting his chin, and refusing to meet her eyes, he turned and walked out.


End file.
